


Midwinter Break

by RasoirNational



Category: French History RPF, French Revolution RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Direct rivalry with AStupidUserName420, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RasoirNational/pseuds/RasoirNational
Summary: Antoine had never seen his friend so tired, and Maxime is not indifferent to his care. In fact, he is even rather intrigued.(translated from french, so multiple mistakes incoming :p)





	Midwinter Break

**Author's Note:**

> _Pleaaaaase excuse me for mistakes, grammar faults and bad turn of phrase. My English is quite old now (if you can, please read this in french, I will post it soon)... I tried to be closest to the historical reality, specially in the places of residence (Demoulins &Danton near the Odeon, Robespierre on the St-Honoré Street and Saint-Just just behind the Assemblée Nationale (first residence)), please comment if you know more !_  
> So, have a good time reading this sinful text ! :p

* * *

11 p.m has passed, it's the first time that Antoine stays this late at work. The young man sighs with satisfaction shutting his laptop off, before he retrieves his last file from the printer. He tales the still warm sheets, staples them and then buries the folder in his leather satchel. Leaving the reprographics room, he notices that a light still escaped the end of the hall.

It’ Maxime’ Office. Antoine knows he always works late, but the shadowing and gloomy glares his friend have worn since a few weeks show he’s working too much for his own good. He piles up three jobs, whip here in the Assemblée Nationale, vice director at Duplay’ company, and finally treasurer and leader of the division Rive-Gauche of the Jacobins. He’s also holding a press critic blog.

Antoine walks to the office and knocks on the door. No sound, no response comes out of the room. Checking if there were no one else in the corridor, Antoine opens quietly the door and enters the room.

Maxime had fallen asleep on his keyboard, his chest heaving at regular intervals and a slight hum could be heard. For a long time, Antoine finally sees his friend soothed, relaxed. He smiles at the sight, tender and dear, knowing that surely no one else but had seen Maximilien Robespierre asleep. Careful not to wake his friend, he steps forward, withdraws the laptop away and then shuts it down. While the machine puts itself on standby, Antoine discreetly pushes the office door and heads out of the building.

* * *

The next day goes without tumult. Hebert has once again released an article that had revived the claims of the more radical deputies in the Assemblée, had disturbed many others and put a little ambiance in the debate session this afternoon. However, Saint-Just is convinced that it was still another a libelle in the wind, and he was diverted of the show of a Danton trying to reassure at all costs a panicked Desmoulins in the Assemblée's restroom.

By late afternoon, Robespierre passes the door of his office with two huge filing binders and a folder in his arms. He drops them on the only tidy place that remained on Antoine’ desk.

"These are the orders of business and files concerning the questions to ministers for next week. Could you check them and send them to the right deputies, please ?"

"Sure. Please Maxime, take a place. I just wanted to talk to you for two minutes.”

"If this is about the last rag Hébert, do not worry, I've already sent an article to the Jacobins and publish a response on my blog." Maxime sat in one of the two green armchairs that every member of the Assemblée has in his office, the one closest to his friend. He removes his glasses and quickly wiped the dust raised by the fall of the ring binders on the desk.

"I would have suspected, quickness does never miss you. But that's not it." He sets a silence, then resumes. "Tell me Max, do you regularly sleep these days ?"

"You're starting to talk like Desmoulins, Louis-Antoine" Maxime directly looks away to avoid the worried look of his friend and growls. "I know very well how to take care of my health, thank you." And with that, he was gone. The door has not slammed, but Antoine feels that all the will was there. Maxime is careful to conceal his feelings, and Antoine acknowledges he's privileged because he has learned to decode some signs that his Incorruptible leaves behind.

With a sigh, Antoine takes the pile containing the orders of business. But before going further, he resolves to learn more about his friend's health. He took his smartphone, looks for the number of the Duplay’ company, and waits. He has first a secretary, to whom he gave his name and who redirects him to the director. The voice of the latter can be heard quickly.

"Saint-Just, my boy, how are you? It's been a long time we did not see you at home !”

"Hello Mr. Duplay, it's nice to hear you also. Excuse me the intrusiveness of my question, but I have wanted to know one thing: when is the last time you saw Maximilien go to sleep at home ?"

"Oh, there's a good week from there I think. Is he okay? Eléonor has to worry.."

"Me as well," Antoine winces at the name of the daughter Duplay. "He's fine, or at least I try to make him feel better. Thank you, Mr. Duplay." The father also thank him and hang up. So, Maxime did not go back to the Duplay' for a week ...

Later in the evening, Antoine sends his last email for the day. He had sent for signature for the umpteenth time the agriculture bill that the government was bent to pass before the end of the year and he also corrected the agendas Robespierre asked him to do. His satchel on his shoulder, folder and jacket in hand, Antoine steps in the office of his friend to give him.

It's too early to see Maxime asleep on his desk. Somewhere, Antoine misses this view, which had nevertheless pursued him last night. Loathly, he puts that thought aside and knocks again on the door. A rhythmic music suggests a waltz on the keyboard under his friend' fingers, who does not take his eyes up from his Macbook. Yet he lifts his gaze and greets Antoine.

"Hi Antoine, did you ended the ODJ? Perfect, lay them me there." he said ridding the letter packets piled up on one of the chairs. Antoine could see the reflection of his glasses that conceals the tired eyes of the older man. This fatigue is reflected as much in his voice, deeper and slower than he had heard in the afternoon. Antoine complies, put his folder on the chair and then looks Maxime working quietly from behind his shoulder.

A few minutes pass in silence, sometimes interspersed with questions, writing tips and fast answers in a low voice. A symbiosis settle, Maxime sit up in his chair, resting a few moments, and Antoine lets his hands rest on the shoulders of his friend. Without pushing the intrusive hands, he looks up at the younger man behind him. This new silence had a meaning other than the last. It betrays a hesitation, almost a misunderstanding, although the two men are completely relaxed. Antoine sighs and risks his demand.

"Max, you should go home.." at the word go, Maxime turns again to fix his gaze on his computer. The response was quick, however.

"Not now, you know very well. I have this final report from the principal committee to finish for tomorrow and anoth-”

"-Maxime, I called Duplay father earlier. They have not seen you for a week !” With a firm but calm gesture, he turns the chair so his friend could face him. "And even if you do not want to see them for x reason, you must take care of yourself. You’re starting to smell..”

Maxime falls silent for a few seconds. He looks behind Antoine, in the emptiness trying to avoid the accusing, half-anxious glare of Antoine, and he sniffs his displeasure. True, he had not washed for some time.

"The journey back to the Duplay is a real hell, especially at rush hour. And you know I hate public transport." Maxime knows that this excuse would not pass with Louis-Antoine de Saint-Just. The latter laughs and turns to bring his friend’ affairs scattered across the desk.

"Well come spend the night at home. I live two blocks away from the Palais-Bourbon. Don’t tell me you hate to walk too." He takes Maxime’s bag and unplugs his Mac. Too tired to argue, Maxime gives up this victory to his young friend. He slaps his computer shut, takes the jacket Antoine holds him out, smiling, and walks out of the building listening to his friend savors his victory.

* * *

Water runs in the bathroom while Antoine is cooking, that is, puts a pizza royale in the oven at 220 C for 15 minutes. When Maxime emerges from the shower, wearing the shirt and jogging that Antoine had lent him for the night, Antoine feels a slight chill in the lower abdomen. He claims for himself that it must come from his languid hunger at the end of the day, not thoughts he smothers for his best friend for some years now. Approaching, Maxime resumes the discussion they had during the trip to Antoine's apartment.

"I realize that for 5 years we've known, I never came to your home" He leans on the kitchen counter, while Antoine slips him a glass of rosé.

"It may be better that way, otherwise the girl Duplay will choke me to death. And you’re lucky to come here after the passage of the cleaning lady.”

"Do not say that Eléonor. It's a nice girl, pure as a diamond. She would not hurt you if you put some effort to learn a bit."

"She only has eyes for you Maxime" Antoine turns to take the pizza out of the oven. He takes a knife (seriously, not any French do use a pizza wheel) and tries to cut the pizza into two equal parts. "I have never trusted women, and she doesn't tell me more than all the others. Please don't make any comment on my cooking skills" Maxime laughs heartily, of course Antoine is afraid of women. Himself he isn't very excited about lady company. Antoine listens to this unique sound, and replies by handing Maxime his plate, some cutlery and by directing him to the couch.

"Maxime, when did you have your last movie night? Desmoulins said that the last dated back to your years of study and it had ended badly.”

“Do not remind me, please.” He sinks into the cushions and surrounds himself with the burgundy plaid which was waiting on the armrest. Antoine drives through the Netflix channels and when the film has started, he joins his friend on the couch.

Maxime must have fallen asleep in the middle of the film as Antoine felt his right shoulder sag gradually. With a brief glance which soon turned into a blatant contemplation of his friend's face, Antoine is sure on that Maximilien Robespierre has melted down on him. He reasons, it must be unwanted by Maxime. Indeed, he had cast a wary eye earlier in the evening when Antoine, recovering the plate that still rested on his legs, had his fingers lingered on his skin. Maxime shuddered but had not uttered a word and looked away.

Antoine takes advantage of this rest. He warily lays his head on Maxime' and calmly takes one of his hands in his. He gently strokes his friend' palm with his thumb while he loses himself in the familiar scent which has anchored the shower in Maxime' skin. He had used his shampoo. Everyone has the right to dream and escape from reality from time to time ...

But this tender moment has to be ended. The film credits approach and it was not in this position, half lying, that Maxime would recover from his sleepless nights. Antoine pulls away, unties their hands and gently wakes him. Maxime grumbles, still sleepy, and looks at Antoine quizzically. This unspoken question demands an answer.

"The film is over. We must unfold the couch so you can sleep properly. I will bring you some blankets and a pillow.”

He leaves the couch with some numbness and returns a few minutes later with the so-called bedding. Maxime has not moved and is still looking at him quizzically. Antoine decides to ignore it and prepare the sofa. He turned the TV off, then bids goodnight to his friend. Maxime answers the same, with a discreet smile.

* * *

 

Antoine didn't get to sleep that night. On the balcony, he huffs some cigarette' smoke while looping images of the day: Robespierre looking him in his office, as tormented as him by what was going on between them, or propped against his shoulder, this time free of any concern. Antoine retraces all he could do, instead of making the stupid decisions he had taken, but at the same time, he says to himself that it was probably the right thing to do. After all, Maxime was his friend, a friendship that would cost him to lose.

First in a professional term: it was indeed Robespierre who showed him up from his mediocre writer's anonymity and who had introduced him to the Assemblée Nationale despite his young age. He encouraged him to publish and comment the edicts of parliamentarians from all sides, which earned him to be taken as assistant editor of the Chief Whip, Mr. Le Bas. This climb was not appreciated by all, and he was still the Thug in chief® of the Assemblée.

This done, he had then developed respect and gratitude for his political mentor. Antoine cherished his friendship almost like a family relationship. The first dear moments he spent with Robespierre was the long evenings of discussion at the Duplay’ table, and although aged only nine years older than him, Antoine remembered how Maximilien already emanated the aura of a big brother for him, dark and immature nervous student. The Incorruptible seemed so untouchable, unreachable.

Yet it turns out that every human has his weaknesses. Antoine knows that Maxime was a prey for too many diseases that exhaust him for weeks, but he has never seen his friend so distressed that since the end of this summer. The middle of winter is coming, and Robespierre seems to replace depression by physical exhaustion. His health is sinking badly and he was approaching the complete breakdown. Sometimes his entourage also pays the costs, such as the Duplay.

The street is quiet. For a late November night, nothing surprising here. He has hesitated a long moment to get back in the living room and see the other man, but he gives up this sinful idea that would do nothing to help him out to know where would lead his feelings. With a sigh, he stubs out his cigarette on the iron rim of the balcony, closes the window and goes back to bed.

The next morning Antoine awakes to a curious scene. Maxime had done the dishes of the day, tiding the bedding, folding clothes he had borrowed and remade the couch. Yet no trace of his friend. He left the apartment without leaving a word. He sends a brief text message, asking innocently if Maxime had slept well. While shaving, Antoine lightly grazed his jaw, too distracted by the response of the latter.

FROM: Roby  
\- Perfectly fine thank you  
\- Although the quality of my host cook needs improvement. Next time, buy bread and real food, please  
\- I took your spare key

The day started well.

* * *

When Antoine walks into Maxime' office that same afternoon, he has not expected to see so much activity. Georges Danton was there before the desk, he seems to search his words with flourish reinforcements of gesture for a reason that was still obscure to Antoine. Camille Desmoulins is currently bustling all around, with a panicked look on his face that betrayed his (currently) calm gestures. Maxime' shape looms behind the desk and his computer. He remains motionless, arms folded deep in his armchair, looking down. He seems concerned by what Danton had probably informed him of, but was not listening anymore. Considering the ink stains on fingers and sleeves of his friend, Antoine can guess that all this affair was linked to the Jacobins because there are only his speeches Maxime writes by hand.

"What is goi-"

"Hebert went out of his fucking mind !!!" Danton is actually yelling, half turned to Antoine without paying attention to him. In a dramatic move, he blows off a paper stack from the desk, causing a rain of leaflets marked with the seal of the Jacobin Club. "If he really wants to exort Camille on these false charges, he will have to deal with me!"

"You're going too fast Danton, Hebert must have something in mind to attack directly one of the members of the club" Maxime stops for a moment, but Danton goes off again soon after.

"His words are pure felonies, Robespierre !"

"I do not deny thee, and I will protect my friend as fiercely as you. But to back Hébert into a corner, we must first undermine his foundations. Camille, do you know where he had found your wedding's statement of financing" Following his friend' statement, Antoine gradually understands the problem: Hébert had come to demand the Desmoulins' expulsion of the Jacobins on the pretext that he had his hands in the till of the club for his wedding, which seemed completely absurd even to him who did not particularly like Desmoulins. This expulsion could lead to reconsidering his deputy seat, so he clearly couldn't take this accusation lightly. He walks around the desk and rests behind Maxime.

Desmoulins was still rummaging through the papers Maxime, seeking a folder or binder dedicated to the Jacobins. Maxime is the treasurer of the Jacobin, he must keep something about it.. Fumbling with the folders and papers yellowed by time, he replies in a trembling voice.

"I have absolutely no idea where he has been unearthed that." He finally pulls out a workbook that seems dedicated to the account of parliamentary groups. He takes it, goes back next to Danton near the office. "We must return to the Jacobins and prepare my defense for this evening meeting. If we do not score a big hit today, Hébert will have all the signatures he needs to get my expulsion for next Monday."

Today is Friday, as Antoine could easily feel the urgency oozing in his voice. "Well, there's only one thing to do." Maxime marks a silence like to plan his next movements, then he shifts lightly in his chair to look at him. In a hushed but resolute tone, he says to his close friend "Antoine, not now, please." Maxime pulls away from the hands that had come to stay on his shoulders, as per usual. He gets up, takes his jacket and his bag then opens the door for Danton and Desmoulins. Antoine stands where he is, hardly digesting what has just happened. He jumps and manages to catch Maxime's arm before he left.

"Keep me up to date, please"

"Sure Antoine." A slight smile, only indicating a long and laborious evening and with that, he is gone. Still, Antoine remains a few moment in his friend's office.

* * *

Antoine would lie if he said he did not spend the whole evening waiting for a message of Maxime. Not that he was worried about the cause of his friend, Maxime is the best public speaker that he has ever met, but the Jacobin Club was for him a pond of sharks only trying to drown each other. Hébert was unpredictable, and on the other hand, Danton could find every trick to protect Desmoulins although this included shooting in Robespierre' foot.

Without any news, Antoine tries to help his friend as he could. After the Assemblée closes for the weekend, Antoine takes a detour at the Duplay' home rue Saint Honoré, in order to give them a few tidings of Maxime but also to retrieve a few things, clothes and hygiene products mainly. If Maxime spends several nights at home, somebody should think to make him change his clothes from time to time. And finally, the mother Duplay charged him with pastries Maxime seems to love. She promised to give him the recipe the next time he would pass, whatever that means.

On the way back, a chocolate waffle between his teeth, Antoine feels his phone buzzing in his jacket pocket.

FROM: Roby  
\- We have just started the session  
\- Do not wait for me this evening

TO: ROBY  
\- You're always so formal Maxime. C'mon, unleash you, I know you crave it. ;)

Before entering the grand hall of the Jacobins, Maxime feels a shiver down the spine. He switches off his phone and buries it deep in his suit jacket, too suddenly for Camille beside him, who notices perfectly his best friend’ puzzled gaze.

"What happens Max?"

"I believe that Antoine de Saint-Just openly flirts with me. It's destabilizing."

Camille laughs back heartily. Of course, Maximilien Robespierre did not notice the significance of Saint-Just gestures, even he didn't approve them.

* * *

The day was slowly rising when Maxime comes back home that night. From his bedroom, Antoine hears the front door close and the sofa creak under the weight of a tired Robespierre. The older man sighs, followed by a slight laugh, almost inaudible when he sees the Tupperware of wafers waiting on the coffee table of the living room. After that, not a sound.

Antoine could not move from his bed, even to greet his friend in the other room and ask him how turned Camille' defense. On the other hand, his silence was caused in part by the same Desmoulins, who had sent him a text message in the evening. He asked him to "go slowly Maximilian" and "not try to rush him." He has felt offended by receiving marital advice from a guy he did not like, but also guilty. Maybe he went too fast with Maxime, he did not pace himself completely in his presence.

After much cognitive procrastination, Antoine eventually falls asleep as the dawn has just broken through the slate roofs of Paris. Hours later, in the late morning, he is awakened by the quiet sound of the shower which was just behind the wall of his bedroom. Hesitantly first, Antoine chooses to take advantage that the other man was busy to adjust his little morning problem.

He slides his hand into his pants and takes his member in hand. He was already naturally inflated by the waking up, but Antoine knows there was much more behind. He makes a few moves before fully visualize his fantasy, to which his erection answers affirmatively. Maxime was behind that wall, water streaming down his body and carefully traced the lines of his muscles. His hair takes a deliciously powdery color under the effect of the foam that runs down his neck and over his shoulders. A few brown hairs softened here and there the forms of his chest, which was nothing unusual if not to belong to the Incorruptible. Indeed Maxime has nothing of an athlete, he usually eats little and, to Antoine's knowledge he does no physical exercise. Yet this did not prevent the young man to get a baroque picture of his friend. He sees the older man' hand, sliding down lower and lower down his belly, his finger briefly skimming his still virgin sex. Maxime eventually surrounds his penis with his hand and begins to massage himself. Antoine feels his hand filled with a hot and sticky liquid, which he knows and hates the provenance.

Panting, ashamed to think of his friend in this way, he wipes his hands with a tissue and throws it in a bin right after. He puts sweatpants and goes straight to the kitchen. Leaning on the edge of the sink, he fills his hands with fresh water and rinses his face to clear those lustful thoughts from his head.

Behind him, Maxime leaves the bathroom. His hair is not completely dry and a few droplets plop on the wooden floor. His friend was wearing one of Antoine' t-shirt that was too large for him, much smaller than his younger friend, and his pant was the one he had brought home from the Duplay'. However, he could still smell the scent of his own shampoo on his friend' body, swell which torments him more and more.

"Hi, Antoine" Maxime seems relaxed, almost serene after a night of sleep that closes a long week of hard work. "By sheer accident, would you have forgotten my shampoo ?" His Incorruptible' tone was here almost mischievous, quite aware of the meaning of this little oversight. He sits on a kitchen stool while drying his hair with the towel he keeps on his shoulders.

"I prefer mine" Antoine laughs, but could not find a better excuse. This one at least had the merit to be truthful. "I'll take a shower, all the dishes for breakfast are in this drawer. There is bread in the freezer if you want.”

Maxime’ gaze tracks him until he locks himself in the bathroom, puzzled about the attitude of his friend who was normally quieter, even in the morning.

Antoine must have spent an unreasonable time under water as he has thought back to all the choices of his life that had led to the current situation, and this at least three times. How has he come to think so of Maxime? He knows well that the whole story was absurd, that Robespierre being the Incorruptible, only living for the salvation of the Republic, he could not return any feelings to anyone. That said, this did not prevent his body to think otherwise.

He curses for an umpteenth time his body and cuts off the water. While drying, he glimpses at himself in the between-tinted mirror fogging. Shaved and scraped under the lip, he really looks like the kid he was 5 years ago when he had first met Maxime. It did not help the situation… A towel around his hips, he leaves the bathroom and goes straight into his room to take some clothing he had obviously forgotten earlier. Maxime was still looking at him from the corner of his eyes while tidying the sofa and taking away the biscuits boxes.

Soon after, they take breakfast in silence on the kitchen table. Antoine discovers with no surprise that Maxime has a weakness for the warmed baguette and chocolate wafers. The older man eats quietly until his eyes fall on the collection of various jams Antoine has exposed in a top cabinet. He asks, and his friend gladly gets a few extra spoons and open up some of his best pots of his native Burgundy. It is these times that Antoine holds dear with his friend, those moments of intimacy and domesticity they share with one another. In those moments Antoine was not troubled to the depths of his being about his feelings, he just savors his friend' presence next to him. But it seems he has to come back to reality quickly, too quickly.

"I have to go back to Camille' home this afternoon to conclude his defense. It should not be long."

"Oh? I have not asked you how the Jacobins had taken your speech last night.”

"It was most certainly not one of my greatest moments of eloquence, but Camille seems to be out of the woods. It is all the fervor of Georges, and the blunder Hébert has done by refusing to reply directly." He continues his political analysis of the situation, but Antoine was not listening anymore. He has seen the evening news on TV which briefly after the providential speech of Danton for the safeguarding of the endangered Desmoulins, and it was enough. He, he was interested in another thing. 

"When do you leave ?"

"In an hour."

So, the two men get rid of their dishes and Antoine puts the dishwasher to start. Maxime has opened his computer to print a few pages and other tables that would be useful once at Desmoulins' home, then he changes his clothes for something slightly more formal in Antoine's bedroom. The younger man has settled on his desk with the ambition to finish all the Excels the Assemblée' accounting department was dragging him over for two weeks now. Yet, he has jumped when he has felt Maxime' hands land on his shoulder back. He raises an eyebrow, half-amused, half-questioningly.

"Excuse me for making you thrill. I just wanted to say you I'm leaving now."

"Yes !.. Yes of course. Excuse me, you should absolutely not blame yourself for me.” Antoine confuses himself in excuses, trying to glean a few moments of contact with his friend, but he walks away. He blows a quiet "see you later", somehow disappointed.

* * *

Although a certain passion for mathematical logic, the Excel spreadsheet successfully defeats Louis-Antoine de Saint-Just of boredom. Once all the tables put in a clean and understandable record, he sent the email to his addressee and, finally, he has finished this task of hell. Antoine sighs and looks at his surroundings for the first time since 2 or 3 hours. His apartment was plunged into the darkness of the endless winter afternoon. The rain is abruptly falling outside, and he prays that Maxime has thought to take an umbrella before going out.

He pulls his chair and walks to the kitchen, put some milk in a saucepan and waits. What better than a hot chocolate to pass a rainy winter Saturday? Paris has not often got to see snow, or if there was, it was soon becoming gray or black with pollution and traffic congestion. Thoughtfully, he pours cocoa powder, leaves half of the milk pan on a warm fire and pours the other half into a large mug. His mind was busy but did not think of very important things. It didn't feel like that now. Then he puts the empty mug in the sink and goes to his bedroom.

Even if he has slept most of the morning, the heavy and humid weather of the Parisian winter and the short nights which have punctuated this week weigh harshly on his muscles. A nap would be highly appreciated.

Later in the afternoon, Maxime returns from Camille' home. The rain has obviously surprised him, doubling the shower he has taken in the morning. Taking his shoes off in the entrance, he takes a new set of clothes on the pile he keeps on one of the chairs of the living room, and change his wet clothes. He has already noticed the absence of Antoine to the desk he had left it a few hours ago, but soon find him by passing before the open door of his friend's room. He remains for several minutes on the doorstep, sipping a cup of hot chocolate he had the pleasure to find when he went in. While removing his glasses, Maxime stares at Antoine's body, inert on the bed except for the tiny and regular shifting of his chest. He remembers his college friend' advice.

When he was at his home, Maxime took some time to talk to him with Camille about the disturbing thoughts he sometimes wears for Antoine. Knowing the tumultuous relations between the two men, he expects that Camille Desmoulins was not perhaps the best person to approach the Saint-Just subject, but he was still his best friend since the college, and the only one in his entourage who can juggle a love life with a man and a woman. At the same time. Somewhere Maxime respects him for this. When he had put the subject on the table, Lucile was also with them. She has been the first to suggest to simply talk to Saint-Just himself, to which both men answered with a shiver. Maximilien Robespierre is not a man of feeling, and he didn't feel himself capable to confess anything to his friend, whatever the nature of his resentment. Camille had first proposed the alcohol solution, but had retracted in front of the Maxime' disgusted look. He has resolved to fumble his way along, discovering blindly what Antoine wanted and also shedding light on his own feelings. He puts his empty cup on the coffee table, and enters the bedroom.

He slowly sits on the edge of the bed, taking care not to wake Antoine. He studies his face a few minutes, so relaxed when he was asleep. He has been so young when they have first met, yet he has already seen in him great potential for the Republic. Now that he is his friend and colleague, he wonders if Antoine would one day go further than he did himself. He lays alongside with Antoine, still contemplating his slow and deep breathing, contrasting with the rain raging against the window. His hand comes to rest against his friend' jaw, stroking a slight scratch that was there. How has he done this? Antoine sometimes keeps that childish, unwary attitude, which, instead of disadvantaging him, makes him more endearing (children, and their innocence, were perhaps those who still had the highest regard at Maxime eyes). His hand follows the line of Antoine' collarbone, where the skin is much soft than the roughness of the jaw, that coarseness every man know after shaving. A smile comes to him as he passes over the Antoine' heart, which gives a steady, soothing beat. He feels the other blinking slowly under his touch.

"Ma.., Max.."

"Schhh, everything's fine Antoine" The sleeper opens his eyes with difficulty despite the surrounding darkness of the room. When he has fully his friend in view, he straightens to calculate the magnitude of the illusion that he had before him. Maxime, laying next to him in his bed. God thank he was still dressed.

"Maxime! Wha- why are you.. ?"

"Schh, nothing serious, do not worry" Maxime puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down and intimate him to regain his previous position. "I just left Camille’s home earlier than planned, that's all.."

Antoine's gaze is still marked by confusion, he even doubts that this was the reality. He feels nevertheless the hand of Maximus weighting on his shoulder, now drowning along with his back. He has to be sure. He brings his hand up to his cheek and his friend.. doesn't falter. He could feel under the tiny hairs of the beard of Maxime his palm, he feels the rough skin that has been touched by so many afflictions. A question burns his tongue, but his friend is faster.

"You know, the other night, when we have watched TV, I felt your embrace. I..." He pauses, searching for his words. "I do not know how to explain this, but I enjoyed it." He drowns his dusky eyes in Antoine' azure blue query gaze, probing to find, perhaps, the answer to this question. The hands of the younger man still surrounding his face, his thumb stroking as he did just a few nights of this. Maxime says in an almost inaudible breath.

"Please, continue. But I beg you not to make me explain what I do not know."

Antoine understood the request of his friend. Not leaving the eyes, he rises slightly, just enough to allows one of his legs to move above those of Maxime. The older man had straightened his hands on the younger man' chest, marrying his form in his t-shirt. He seeks to limit the distance between them, between that body he had so identified in his dreams… soon he was recalled by Antoine, or at least by the tongue of his friend. It has shyly come licking Maxime' lips as if to request the access. He repeats once more, and the third time he presses his lips against his feverishly. The two men close their eyes, savoring this unique moment.

The kiss deepens at each instant, each tongue had found its twin and hands have lost on the body of the other and begin to raise the unwanted textile. They seem no more in control of their own movements. Breathless, they have to part, but the hands always venture further, wanting to know more of the other. The two men were still staring at each other, hanging on the link they have taken so long to build. Antoine keeps looking into those dark eyes for permission to continue this dance, even as the thing still seems unreal to him. Maxime genuinely sinks into the deep blue eyes of Antoine in order to find the meaning of the kiss they just have shared for the first time but, with no satisfying answer, he begs for closing the space between their bodies, and it was done.

Antoine kisses him again and moves closer, up to join their chests and intersperse their legs. Maxime's hands are lost in the Antoine' back, while the younger was holding one hand behind his neck and the other on his lower belly. While remaining attentive to the reactions of his friend, Antoine's fingers shyly snake under the pants' textile, gradually venturing further along his hips, to finally arrive on the inner thighs. He lingers on this spot, stroking with his thumb, then he exerts a little pressure to indicate to Maxime to raise his legs and leave a passage for his hand. He pulls and only brushes the steep and sweaty member of his lover. The contact, though shy and fleeting, is enough to snatch a shiver to Maxime. His heart had stopped for a while. They were there... Feeling that something doesn't go well, Antoine leaves with regret his friend' lips and sits up, trying to reconnect the eye contact, but Maxime seems now lost in the void.

"Max, are you okay? We can stop here if you want…"

Maxime straightens up too, so he backs up against the wall behind the bed. During a feverish moment, he feels lost, his mind could not connect the dots. He regains his senses gradually, panting. Antoine is waiting, still above him but he has withdrawn his hands from the body of his friend. After a time that seemed endless for Antoine, Maxime finds him again, stows his eyes on his and puts a hand on Antoine’ biceps as if to reassure him. It’s also to help himself to relate to reality.

"I .. I’m okay, well.." He has a slight smile. "I just need some time, Antoine.. "

Antoine gulps. He expected this, that Maxime would emerge and flight out from his apartment and never want to hear from him again. Too fast, that's what prevented Desmoulins. But he has failed to listen, reckless as he was. Now he feels his chances wiping out seconds after seconds, and his heart turns into aches at the thought of losing him. He plunges again into Maxime' dark but peaceful eyes, hoping to find a contra-indication, a message, something. Without being aware of it, the hand that was on his biceps gently downs to take his hand. Maxime stares at him too. He speaks in a near whisper :

"I know nothing, Antoine. I'm still not sure of the true nature of my feelings for you, how far they will go, nothing. But I have yet a certainty." Maxime takes his hand in his, squeezes it, and just put it on his stomach. Antoine can't curb him, he doesn't know where Maxime is going. "I am certain that I want it as much as you."

He leads their joint hands lower again until the Antoine' hand surrounds his sex. He helps him two or three times, then Antoine quickly resumes the movement back and forth, which allows him to have a free hand and removing his pants, leave the field free to his younger friend. Antoine repeats the shake mechanically, without looking at his throbbing hand. Instead, he buries his head in Maxime' neck who has given the implicit permission. Forehead against his neck, nose in his collarbone, Antoine starts panting against the Maxime' chest. His lover also breathes hard, tortured by the pace imposed on him, but he always asks for more. His hands come to dive into the Antoine' wavy hair, which he plastered against his cheek. Maxime doesn't know if it was the zeal with which the hand of his friend applies to its task, or rather the dampness of his breath against his neck that makes him insane, but in any case, he would no last a very long time. After a few minutes, Maxime ejaculates indeed in Antoine's hand. He stops, his hand falling against his hips.

They are out of breath. Antoine moves to fall alongside Maxime, against the wall. He looks at his hand and the sperm that covers it, and then wipe it with a tissue after quick licking a small part (just curious). Meanwhile, Maxime recovers his spirits, and the pants he had abandoned previously. Shoulder against shoulder, they rest a few moments without really calculating what had happened. Then Maxime brokes the silence in a quiet and replete tone.

"Antoine ?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you"

Another pause. The rain has stopped now, leaving only a fine mist of white snow. He twirls their fingers and resumes.

"It was my first time."

Antoine turns to him, puzzled. "With a man?"

"No, with someone, simply." He replies with a smile. "Really, thank you."

And he lays a chaste kiss on the Antoine’ lips.

* * *

The week that followed tastes like a honeymoon for both of them, with its moments of fondness, its first discoveries but also some fervor. Their first night was also an opportunity for Antoine’s wandering hands to resume their exploration, but not beyond the point where they had arrived earlier. In the falling darkness of the night, Maxime keeps a close eye on him with a smile, this time perfectly in control of himself and guiding him from time to time, leaving him free in his movements for most. In the morning, he discovers without surprise that Antoine becomes possessive asleep at night, and he finds himself with the breath of the other man in the neck while his arms and legs try to tangle with his.

They spend Sunday together, always in Antoine's apartment since time did not seem milder than yesterday. Digging a little into his old things, Antoine unearths on an old record player he had once bought in a flea market, accompanied by a bunch of good ol' vinyl. Max Richter's Memoryhouse plays in the apartment while the two men begin to move forward in their work for the week, leaving them perhaps a little free time. Folders and files were spread out on the coffee table, the printer running at a steady pace, they exchanged remarks about the changes to make or advice on the formulations to be adopted, sometimes a view or opinion out following the mention of a name. The studious atmosphere did not prevent the look of Antoine landing on Maxime, recording every detail like his pose, the reflection of his glasses, he was at the limit of contemplation. This apart, they worked faster together and, by early afternoon, they had finished a suitable part of their task.

On the proposal of Antoine, the afternoon is devoted to a Christmas movie marathon and relaxing on the sofa. Wrapped in the blanket, Maxime waits for Antoine, who comes back a few moments later with a food tray on which rest two bowls of steaming hot chocolate and the last box of Madame Duplay’ biscuits. Strangely, the older already seems to rejoice in this taste. Amused, Antoine enquires about the reason for the voracious glow that shimmered in Maxime’ eyes.

"Will you tell me one day what these cakes have that you love so much?"

Maxime bursts into laughter and sinks into the cushions with box wedged against his stomach, wearing a mischievous air. A piece of wafer between the teeth, he intimates Antoine to come and find it by yourself. With a stolen kiss, he whispers his weakness "It is the taste of the praline.." Antoine giggles at the honeyed singularity of his answer go against all the stoicism that spreads the Incorruptible. Acting as if he had heard nothing, he brings his young lover and wraps him in the blanket as Antoine starts the film.

Back to work on Monday, Antoine received the visit of Maxime in the mid-afternoon. Given the glow that already brightened his face, it seems that he brings good news.

"Camille has won his defense! The attack turned against Hebert and now he takes the blame for tampering with evidence and forging documents.

"Glad to hear it, it will tie him up for a time and with a little luck, its newspapers will look great burning for Christmas. Danton and Desmoulins won't complain!"

"Sure not, they propose to celebrate this in a bar next Saturday. Of course, you're invited."

“If you're here, I will make an effort to overcome the presence of Desmoulins within 5 meters" Maxime looks up to heaven. Antoine laughs for now, but he would have to find a diplomatic way to make peacefully coexist his best friend and his lover.

* * *

The two men get ready to join Danton and Desmoulins in town. All week, Maxime had made round trips to the Duplay’ house to retrieve his belongings, books, letters and clothes (there was not much more), so they have almost moved together. The Duplay had him still ensure that their door would always be open to him, though Eléonore left him in a huff. Maxime decides he will solve this problem later. For now, he’s just poking around Antoine’ clothes to find a warmer jacket than what he has. Antoine is watching him on the doorstep of his room, tenderly smiling. He comes closer and pulls out a gray striped wool cardigan.

"This one will suit you better"

"Thank you." The elder looks at their reflection in the mirror of the closet door. Antoine is wearing a garnet red silk shirt with a light black jacket and dark jeans. He's dressed in a bluish shirt and black pants, over gray cardigan. "You're not too bad"

He laughed. "You’re defending yourself quite lovingly as well." Maxime lets Antoine put a kiss on his neck, then he takes the road of the living room for the rest of his business. "Come on, otherwise we will not be on time." Antoine follows him, takes his jacket and, when they were both ready, takes his keys and locks the door.

Thirty minutes later, they join their friends in a bar on the place Saint-André-des-Arts, near the place Saint-Michel. When he sees him, Camille gets up and embraces Maxime. Long accustomed to the tactile habits of his friend, Maxime returns the hug and smiles.

"Max, thank you for coming! Let's celebrate this victory !"

"You're welcome Camille, you know very well that I will do whatever in the world for my friends. Good evening Lucile, good evening Georges. Lucile, you're beautiful tonight" They greet him back and Camille gets back in his chair, while Maxime sits on the bench. Antoine follows his silently and greets the other. A waitress comes soon after and takes their order.

The evening goes off well. Camille shares his anecdotes about the disappointment of Mirabeau advances and how he had been successively blown off by Lucile, Adrienne de Lafayette and finally Madame Royale during the gala held by President Bourbon a month ago. Lucile had died laughing against Danton' shoulder, who had the decency to hold his tendentious jokes (which is rare enough to mention, given the liters of beer he had swallowed). Maxime participates, giggling occasionally, while Antoine quietly sips his beer. He had never really talked with the Desmoulins-Danton couple before (he had never had the will), but he was beginning to know them. If he does not understand the reason for the deep friendship that tied up Maxime, Camille and Danton (Lucile was an angel which no man could be insensitive), Antoine delights to see Maxime blossomed. He has the impression to share a bit of his world. But what made him may be more fun was the hand that Maxime had landed on his leg.

When all pints were empty and paid (and prevented Georges to take another), the group goes out on the square. The night was pitch dark and the snow fell gently. Rubbing his hands, Lucile resumes the conversation. "We had planned to finish the evening in a club, would you like to come with us ?"

"I'm not sure Lucile ..." Maxime replied. "I’ve never really liked the atmosphere there" But Camille does not let his friend escape like that.

"Come with us! The last club that you've gone to was for my 18th birthday, Maxime. It's been a while! Just this once, please"

Maxime turns to Antoine as if to ask help or reinforcement. However, Antoine supported the project. A hand in the back of Maxime, he prompts. "Come on, just once. I've never seen you dancing"

Maxime sniffs sulkily. "Maybe because I don’t know how to" Defeated, he lets himself be dragged through the streets of Paris until they find the institution pointed by Camille.

This late in the night, the club is already thriving. Antoine would not say that was filled by any means, especially for a Saturday night, but there was good music and enough people on the dance floor to get into it quickly. The group quickly splits in two, Saint-Just inviting Lady Desmoulins for a dance and the three other men at the bar. Camille asks the bartender for two cocktails and a coke, trying to limit Georges' alcohol consumption. Georges grumbled a bit in his back but basically loves the attentions of his friend. Camille squeezes the hand Georges has on his leg and looks up at his wife at the other end of the room. He did not especially like the way Saint-Just returns her movements, much too close. He shivers despite the stickiness of the air and turned to Maxime.

"Saint-Just has sometimes ways that I appreciate little."

"Don't worry Camille, Antoine will do nothing to her. You know he is not as petty as you have long thought."

"It will take me some time to really understand it. In the end, you have sorted your things out with him?”

"I think so.” He breathes a little, sniffing the air and stirring his drink. "But I still cannot say anything for now, I do not know where I am myself"

Camille finishes his drink in one sitting. It's not that he despises the choice of his childhood friend, but he would have advised more deftly in his relationship if he was with someone else. He feels awkward and robbed of his role of friend, although he knew all the complexity Maxime knew with the apprehension of his feelings. In his reflection, Desmoulins feels his lover lightly scratching her back. Georges, who was fascinated by Lucile’ hip rolls for many minutes, is begging Camille for a dance that could compete with the other two. Somewhat amused by the frivolity of his friends, Maxime watches them leave with a smile on his lips. Without really thinking, his eyes fall later on Antoine who had briefly changed partners, now alternating between men and women on the track.

Initially, Maxime only watched him from her peripheral vision, by stealth and involuntary glimpses of his hair flying, his hips rolling, this seductive look on his face that was growing his guts. But the bar is boring and the alcohol would not hold him much longer, so he turns on his stool and lets himself drown by the sight of Antoine's body.

He moves with great agility, stark at some point, he seems to move around in the room like a predator and the glow of his eyes reflected this metaphor. His body was struggling with a liquid smoothness, every muscle and ligament giving birth to the next in a glorious symphony of movement happening to a hip turn, his tongue passing briefly over his lips, twirling hands around foreign bodies. He’s a free spirit, leaving his partner as soon as he sold out and the crowd was following every move he makes in a kind of weaving. Maxime doesn’t know how long he stares at him.

Then his eyes rise - a Mediterranean blue clouded by the whirlwind and the rumblings of the storm - and found Maxime, even though the distance and the tangle of other dancers. He waltzes deeper in the crowd and Maxime craves to say he was less exciting than others, that like in his youth he was insensitive to the symphony of the bodies, that he had remained incorruptible. But he could not, and it could perhaps never more. Their eyes tied up to each other’, Maxime guts rack him in the sweetest torture.

Then he feels a hand gently laid on his back. With a hint of bitterness, Maxime brokes the connection he held with his friend to face Lucile, who was perched on the stool previously occupied by Camille. She looks at him tenderly, like a mother watching her children. Serious talk, if Camille and George did not have a child next year or it would be a serious loss of tenderness potential in this world. Relaxing at her contact, Maxime listens without flinching.

"What are you waiting for ? Go find him, you both need this.”

"I am a bad partner for him. Look at him, it’s like he did it all his life.”

Lucile's hand was becoming increasingly urgent. "You can't lie, Maxime. I spoke with Antoine earlier, all he wants is to share a dance with you. And you're not going to stay all night at the counter, are you? You look like the most despondent man in the world !" And with that, she throws him on the dance floor. A last look at her assured him all her motherly truth, and then he's caught up in the whirlwind of the crowd.

Completely lost, he watches Antoine approaching him like a wolf would hunt its prey. When he was close enough, he slides his hands against his neck and his lips brush past his ear. Maxime briefly closes his eyes, drowning himself in the deep voice of his lover.

"Would you give me the honor of this dance?" He brings him a little closer, letting Maxime’ hand rise against his chest.

"I would be very pleased"

He feels the Antoine’ hands falling down along his body, burning like a fire trail. They come encircle his hips, fixing against his and resulting in dragging him on the trail of his movement helped by the rhythmic beat of the music. Maxime sets his head on the shoulder of his friend and rested his arms in his back as to cling at a solid base in the middle of the storm. Thus, Antoine is leading him where he wants, telling him to further reduce the distance between them. His body answers to each movements Antoine makes and keeps digging further into the depths of its belly.

Further, Lucile, satisfied with the result, goes back near her lovers who had settled in sofas nested in an alcove in the room. Landing between the two men, she lays herself against Georges' abdomen as he puts his arm around her waist. The look of her husband switch quickly between her and the couple in the middle of the track, he seems increasingly anxious whenever he saw Saint-Just' hands always venture further in the back of his best friend. Lucile smiles however and tries to reassure him.

"You will get used to this at a time. He is not a bad lad.”

"It's just difficult for me. Maxime is sometimes so sensitive, and I do not think that Saint-Just could understand him as his friends can do it ... I just feel that it benefits him, it is only a passing fancy."

She sits up and places a kiss on his lips. "Don't tell me you're jealous of Antoine ?"

A shiver passes through him, and Georges raises his head, interested in the issue. "NO, I .. I do not carry these feelings for Maxime, it's just that, as a friend, I want to protect him as he could do for me. I do not like Saint-Just, that's all..”

"If Maxime likes him, there must be a reason, darling..”

"Yes, but I do not understand it yet. He often hides his true intentions." Lucile shuts him up with a new tender kiss, then she withdraws a bit and takes Camille's face in her hands to fix their gaze. He calms himself instantly.

"The greatest gift you'll give to Maxime is accepting his choice. I do not necessarily say that you should approve and support him, but just trying to understand why he has a weakness for him. Can you do that for him?"

Camille groans a little, then nods reluctantly. "I'll try. But that's just for you and him.."

Satisfied, Lucile wedges herself again against Georges, who takes the opportunity to beg for his own kiss. Camille turns around to try to glimpse at where were Saint-Just and Maxime but, to his surprise, he did not find them on the dance floor. Looking around at the rest of the room without seeing them, he rises from the couch towards the counter where he asks a shot. He needs to eliminate some thoughts from his head, especially those concerning Maxime. The alcohol burns his throat and amnesia doesn't come, but at least the pictures of the couple dancing in the middle of the floor were becoming more and more blurred. After a while, Camille gets off the stool, paid for the drinks and steers back to his friends.

Antoine and Maxime have found Georges and Lucile near the alcove. His best friend was laughing at something stupid that Danton must have say, tipsy enough to finally be sensitive to the Georges' humor, and Saint-Just was watching him with greedy eyes. Camille notices a dark spot in the neck Maxime, approaches and pulls slightly the collar of his friend to see if his doubts were proven. He had no doubt on the author of hickey. Regaining his usual silence, Maxime looks puzzled and runs a hand to the place Camille has looked into. Then he realizes quickly what Antoine had sought to do earlier (and succeeded) when he had pressed him against one of the pillars of the hall. Antoine, however, seems to regret none of his actions and shows a big smile.

"Antoine, you will _repay me_ for that !" Maxime growled, but his voice carries nothing of a serious air.

Antoine answers, still having this teasing rictus. "I expect it forward, my dear." This retort sparks hilarity at Lucile and Georges, but Camille still frowns a little. He mumbles a whisper rendered almost unhearable with the music still pounding through the club. " _You will repay me too, Saint-Just.._ ". Only Maxime has heard it and he watches his friend, speechless. Without say more of it, he follows the rest of the group which turns jovially back to the cloakroom to end the evening.

Packed in the car Danton, the conversation resumes. Lucile is driving (the least drunk drive, kids) and Georges takes the passenger seat, while the other three occupying the rear seats. Camille dives in the middle, and Lucile pouts at him in the wing mirror, knowing why. But Antoine and even less Maxime seem to care for this, and the ride is overall quiet. However, midway through the Assemblée Nationale where they will drop off Maxime and Antoine, Camille slides a warning for Saint-Just, warning that looked more like a growl than anything else.

"Don’t even dare hurt him, okay?"

Curiously, this is not Antoine who replied, but Maxime, who drops a reassuring hand on his own. Camille stares at him for a moment, then his friend whispers something in his ear. "Camille, I will rather hurt him tonight. Do not worry, you will also taste this pleasure one day.”. Desmoulins blushes furiously and doesn’t dare look into his eyes his best friend, who bursts into a uncontrolled laughter. As they had heard nothing, the others watch them curiously, Antoine first.

Lucile smiles, she can guess the subject of whisper Maxime with nothing than the color of the cheeks of her husband. "What are you whispering behind? We have reached the AN."

Antoine and Maxime get off the car, kissing their friends goodbye. At the time, Camille fails to make the usual kiss to Maxime who merely settle for, knowingly, a simple handshake. Antoine thanks them for the evening, gives a kiss to Lucile and accepts the friendly handshake from Danton and Desmoulins. Watching them go back on the Pont de la Concorde, the two men turn and take the opposite direction toward Antoine's apartment.

Opening the door, Antoine asks what he had said to Camille. In reply, Maxime adjusts his glasses and spokes quietly.

"Nothing more than what I told you in the club, that you'll repay me for the mark you made in my neck. You know I can’t even hide it with a scarf, huh.”

He teases him in reply."Oh? I would really like to see you getting me to repay you".

Once in the apartment, Antoine wedges him immediately against the wall of the entrance and presses their foreheads, plunging his eyes into his. His hands fix Maxime against the wall, while Maxime’ were again lost in his back, giving him his full confidence. Antoine kindles the fire "You do not know how to lie, Citoyen Robespier-" Maxime shuts off his mouth with a kiss before he could finish his sentence. He forces his tongue against his lips, and Antoine was soon returning the kiss with the same burning fever. Out of breath, they pull apart and he takes the opportunity to stare hungrily at his friend..

"Max, you just don’t realize what you do to me.." Holding closer his body against his, Maxime feels his friend’ erection clutching against his thigh. Antoine snuggles his head against Maxime's neck and runs his tongue over the reddish mark, licking it as a forgiveness. At the same time, he feels his friend’ hand up to his shoulders, removing his vest and a warm breeze falls down against his collarbone.

"Oh, I know exactly what I'll do to you tonight." With that, he straightens up, takes off Antoine' vest and begins to dismantle the buttons of his shirt. While Maxime moves forward, Antoine retreats with him, still staring at one another, but his hands were still on his friend' underbelly and slipping under his shirt, opening button by button. When his hands reach on Maxime' pectoral muscles, they were in the middle of the living room. Slowly, as if not to rush him, Antoine pushes his hands on Maxime' shoulders, so to shed his shirt and cardigan along his arms. His own shirt won't hold much and he gives it up on the coffee table.

With a push of his abs now uncovered, Maxime drops him on the couch behind and follows Antoine, riding on top of him. He bows to peck his collarbone, as his hands ride up against his chest. Antoine let out a gasp when he felt Maxime bite at sensitive places, places he had then the perversity to lick just after. Maxime satisfies with his lover' agreement groans and straightens up to give Antoine a greedy french kiss. Antoine wedges his hand at Maxime' head back, trying to hang on to something real. Stuck in this position, their forehead against one another and panting, Maxime' hands were starting to undo Antoine' belt buckle.

When Maxime raises his hands back to his chest and kissed him, Antoine whines for his missing satisfaction and puts pressure on Maxime' lower back to remind him.He giggles and gives a sly glance to his friend.

"Who's looking for ass-whooping here?"

"Is it working ?”

Maxime laughs as the childishness of his friend. He kisses him again.

"You're incorrigible, Antoine."

His lover' hands are also starting to get lost along with his belly, and Maxime guides him to his own belt. He feels Antoine's hand slip under his clothes and taunts subtly his erect member. Antoine takes a few whipsaws, enough to put Maxime in agony, but he stops before he comes. He takes great advantage of this rest to remove his friend' pants. Antoine flatters the inside of his thighs, taking care to touch from time to time his throbbing sex. A flash pass through Maxime's consciousness, his mind yells at him something not really romantic, but necessary.

"Antoine, where are the condoms ?"

"My room, night table, bottom drawer."

Maxime wastes no time, gets up and walks toward the indicated location. Antoine takes a moment before joining him, calculating what just happened. Is this what they would really do? He had long fantasized this moment and now he fears that the reality does not live up to his dreams… Chasing these dark thoughts from his mind, he gets up, takes off his jeans and his underwears and enters the room.

He founds Maxime, still naked, leaning over the open drawer of the bedside table, examining its contents. In this way, Antoine could fully enjoy the view.

" _Dat. Ass_.”

Maxime turns and raises an eyebrow, kind enough to warn his friend: "And you do not even know what I can do with it.."

Antoine gives him a smile and picks the lubricant from another drawer.

"In any case, I feel that I will soon find out ... Use this, I would love to be able to walk tomorrow" With this, he sits on his bed, while Maxime slips the condom down his member. "And you think I'm going to be sensitive to your whining after the lovebite that you made me ?"

"So I could never corrupt you?" Kidding, the youngest lays multiples peckering kisses, nibbling at some moment at Maxime's belly, who comes closer to him.

"Never, my boy" He kisses Antoine and orders him to turn around. He puts a bit of the viscous liquid in his hand and begins to prepare him. Antoine groans as he feels Maxime's fingers penetrate him, but he gets used to quickly. While his companion increases the number, a thing flashes in Antoine' mind.

"It's your first time, right?"

"Indeed" Maxime straightens and turns Antoine over again. They kiss again, imposing a joint silence. Antoine resumes with a mischievous lick on his lover’ lips.

"You're not that bad yet"

Maxime laughs and leads him in another kiss "Sweet-talking ...". He inserts his member slowly. Every tiny movement is enough to wrest a groan from Antoine, whines which get lost in Maxime' neck. His arms cuddle his back while Maxime supports his backbone with one hand and fumble with his dick with another. Maxime accelerates gradually while Antoine was getting used to the lacerations. This continues for several minutes until Maxime, breathless, withdraws and flakes of the latex envelope. He takes their dick together with one hand and, after a few jolts nipped, they come one after another on Antoine' chest.

Beating hearts, they recover their breath slowly and always against each other. Maxime sighs in satisfaction and kisses his lover, who gently strokes his back. They stay a few moments in this position before Maxime lifts slightly to establish a picture of what they had done. Their joint seeds lay on the belly of the younger, belly yet taken jerks while trying to restore normal breathing. Antoine had briefly close your eyes and displays a quiet air, sated. Maxime bows and runs his tongue against the belly, tasting the fruit of their lovemaking. Maxime feels his young lover calm down, and they neaten their positions. They sit together, and after a long time looking into each other' eyes as if to ask where was the reality in all of this, they burst out laughing.

Finally, Antoine lay more comfortably and invites Maxime to share a last embrace with him.

 

_\- FIN_

 


End file.
